


The Years to Come

by toyhto



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Fixing things, It got smuttier than I thought, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 06:36:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7924369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toyhto/pseuds/toyhto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Remus is watching him closely and trying to weight their love, trying to decide if it’s real enough or not, and he knows he would be doing the same if he didn’t already know. It’s real. It always was. They were complete idiots.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Years to Come

**Author's Note:**

> This is written for the prompt I got from Moonstar24! :)

Something is broken. He can feel it, maybe in his bones, maybe deeper.  
  
He fell through the veil, and as soon as the last trace of light was gone, it was pulling him, down, down, down it pulled. He tried to breathe but couldn’t, the emptiness of it was blocking his lungs, but it didn’t quite hurt. He knew he was going to die and he was supposed to fight it, but it was done, it was already done, the curtains were closed and he could feel the numbing peace of it creeping up inside him.  
  
If only he had told Remus. Then perhaps he would have gone quietly and it would have been good, because he was so terribly tired of it all, of days and losses they always brought. But as he sank deeper he heard Remus, it was impossible but he did anyway, and he thought _not yet._  
  
And now he’s here, and something’s missing, but he can hear his heart beating and it’s enough for now. Slowly he crumbles up onto his feet, and it’s like he’s made of small pieces that aren’t quite in the right places, but he doesn’t care. They never were. He never got it right, and now he’s sitting on the carpet in the doorway he very well knows, even if it’s impossible.  
  
It was a long way up, so long that hadn’t he remembered Remus’ touch on his skin back in 1981, he wouldn’t have bothered. He would have given up and sunk down. But there had been a time, long ago, when Remus had stopped in the doorways to touch him, like, to straighten his collar, or to push him against the wall to kiss his neck, and that’s why he finally drew the curtains aside. He thought they’d be heavy but they were light, and then he was catching his breath and immediately knew something was broken.  
  
He leans against the wall and it makes him shiver, because this is the exact spot where he stopped Remus one night they were coming home from a bar, _you could have died you idiot, you fucking moron why were you so reckless,_ and he kissed Remus’ mouth and Remus pushed him away and then kissed him and afterwards they slept. Later in the dim light of morning he found Remus in the kitchen, crying onto his hands.  
  
“Sirius?”  
  
He freezes. “Yes?”  
  
“You sound weird, did you catch a cold?”  
  
“No.” He swallows and draws a deep breath, trying to make some sense into it but there’s not any. He hears the steps and he has to close his eyes, because it can’t be that Remus walks from their living room to their kitchen in this flat that hasn’t existed since October 1981. He must have gone mad, or -  
  
Or he must be dead.  
  
There’s a radio on, clearly Remus is once again listening to stupid people talking about politics, even though Sirius has told him hundreds of times not to, because it always ends up with him sulking for hours with a cup of tea in his hands and his mouth pressed tightly shut. Sirius used to be able to get him out of it by kissing, but lately it seems that more and more kissing is needed and now there have been times when nothing helps. It’s like the war is finally creeping into them, like really into them, into their bones and their breathing and their tired hearts and their kisses and touches too. The war is in the bed between them, it holds Remus when Sirius awakes middle of the night and finds him breathing too hard and knows he ought to caress him but can’t remember how.  
  
He shakes his head, no, it _was_ between them back in 1981 when they were young and stupid and irresponsibly in love with each other.  
  
“I made tea,” Remus says from the kitchen and Sirius almost jumps. Remus in the 90’s, broken and weary Remus who couldn’t at first look him into eyes and very carefully avoided touching him after that first embrace, didn’t sound like that. This Remus is younger. It hurts somewhere in Sirius’ guts that he knows what is to happen, he knows how badly they are going to get broken. “Or do you want coffee?”  
  
“Coffee,” he says, his voice weirdly hoarse. He doesn’t belong here. He’s old and empty and his pieces are in the wrong places. He’s not the man Remus would want to kiss and hold and fuck, he’s the man who went to Azkaban and came back but lost half of himself in the way. He raises his hands onto his face and then draws a sharp breath, because something’s missing, the years are missing from his skin.  
  
“What the hell are you doing?”  
  
He lets his hands drop. Remus is standing in front of him. There’s soft light everywhere, he can’t make sense of it, maybe this is a dream of a dying man but the ghost frowning at him really looks like Remus he knew back then. The ghost is wearing a grey sweater and no trousers and it looks so much like something Remus would wear back in early 1980’s, when he used to refuse all Sirius’ attempts to make him dress a bit better. _Snobbish,_ he would say and then, with a different voice, _I can’t afford it._  
  
“Is something wrong?” Remus asks.  
  
“No,” Sirius says, trying to catch his breath, “yes, definitely. I’m fine. You’re… you’re…”  
  
“What has happened?” Remus says, stepping forward, and Sirius can’t help it, he flinches and Remus freezes right away.  
  
“No,” he says again, desperate to make sense even though it’s impossible, and his voice is hoarse and his throat is so dry it’s difficult to speak, and Remus is eyeing him with caution, “nothing’s happened, I’m so sorry, I… I’d like coffee. Please.”  
  
Remus hands him a cup and it trembles as he holds it. He tries to drink it but can’t, and Remus keeps watching him and he feels _insane,_ like everything’s turned around, and actually that must be pretty much what’s happened.  
  
“Can you – “ he starts and puts the coffee aside, “ – is it possible that you could, like, would you kiss me?”  
  
“Yes,” Remus says with a deep frown, “yes, I would.”  
  
He bits his lower lip and waits, and Remus looks at him with an expression that seems to suggest _perhaps you’ve lost your mind_ , and then Remus takes a step closer and kisses him.  
  
He can’t make sense of it, he really can’t, he lets Remus place a tentative kiss on his lips and then, when he doesn’t know what to do, Remus kisses him harder. He tries to breathe but it gets stuck somewhere inside him, and Remus’ hands are on his hair and he hears a low crumbling moan coming somewhere, and it must be him because it’s his own voice, hoarse and desperate, and it sounds almost like he’s in pain. Remus’ tongue traces his lips and he opens his mouth just slightly and hopes so much it aches that it would be real.  
  
“You look like you really needed this,” Remus says, pulling away from him, and he grabs Remus’ elbows and holds him tight. _What’s wrong_ , Remus’ eyes asks, but he can’t answer, _everything is wrong, I’m wrong_. And he thinks he knows why Remus doesn’t ask aloud, he thinks he knows and the thought lingers in his chest and makes it difficult to breathe.  
  
“What day is it?” he asks and Remus tries to step away but he just grabs him tighter.  
  
“Wednesday.”  
  
“No,” he says urgently, “what day, what month? What year?”  
  
“Nineteen eighty-one,” Remus says slowly, and he remembers he used to avoid gazes like this always except when they were fucking, then he would let Remus look through him and search whatever it was he was searching and he would just stare back at him. Perhaps that was one of the many things he did wrong. Now he holds Remus’ gaze and Remus swallows, “June, the third.”  
  
“Oh,” he exhales, “ _oh._ ” And he stops squeezing Remus’ hands and only barely sees Remus rubbing them. His head is spinning and the pieces are trying to find the right places and failing. He’s gone back and he’s dead and he doesn’t know if he’s really there, or if this just a dead man’s dream.  
  
“Fuck me,” he says and somehow waits for Remus to punch him, it’s been sixteen years, surely Remus can’t allow him to say a thing like that, but this Remus just watches him, frowning. “Please. It’s been such a long time. I can’t… I don’t know if I can, but… _please._ ”  
  
”We did it yesterday,” Remus says with an odd tone.  
  
“Yeah,” Sirius barks, “fine. It’s just… it feels like it’s been _years_ – “  
  
There are other things he needs to say, probably everything he didn’t manage to say to Remus after they met in Shrieking Shack and in the summer when he was staying at Remus’ small cottage in Wales and they talked about every possible thing that didn’t matter. He needs to say he loves him, that he always loved him, that he should have never doubted -  
  
But Remus kisses him and he knows Remus is having doubts right now, Remus is watching him closely and trying to weight their love, trying to decide if it’s real enough or not, and he knows he would be doing the same if he didn’t already know. It’s real. It always was. They were complete idiots. They should never have listened to anyone else but each other. And he wants to tell Remus all this, but Remus’ mouth is on his and he is trembling, every touch feels like the first time ever, Remus’ fingers on his skin feel like water must taste for a man dying of thirst, and he can’t hold his pieces together.  
  
Remus fucks him on the unmade bed. He holds the sheets and wants to close his eyes but can’t because Remus is watching him and trying to decide whether to trust him or not, and he’s looking back at Remus and trying to tell him _I love you, I always did._ This might be a dream but love was real. Remus has barely touched his cock when he already comes, and then he grabs Remus’ shoulders and watches him as he keeps fucking him, mouth half-open and now, finally, eyes closed. He wants to kiss him but can’t reach, and then Remus swears and collapses on him and kisses his face with clumsy wet kisses and his broken pieces stop shifting.  
  
“Let me hold you,” he says when Remus pulls away from him.  
  
“You never hold me these days.”  
  
“I do.”  
  
“No,” Remus says, and there’s something restless in his face, like he sees something he doesn’t believe in, “no, you just roll on your side and let me be.”  
  
“Remus – “  
  
“You never called me Remus before.” Remus is sitting on the bed now, watching him, and his breathing is still uneven and his heart is beating madly. And Remus’ voice is hoarse and more like a whisper than anything else, and he doesn’t know how to change it, he tries to place his hand on Remus’ thigh and Remus moves away. “You always called me Moony. Always when we were alone, except when we were fighting, and even then if we had sex, you said _Moony_ and never _Remus._ And I thought nothing could break us, because even if you were angry with me you still called me Moony when I was inside you.”  
  
“ _Moony_ ”, he says with a trembling voice. He’s still lying on the bed and it seems there’s nothing he can do about it. He’s just a mess of limbs and unfitting pieces, and he can do nothing but lie there naked and let Remus see him as he is. “Hold me, please hold me – “  
  
“Fine,” Remus says sharply, and Sirius lets out a deep breath as Remus places himself next to him and wraps his arm around his shoulder. He rolls onto his side and feels Remus’ heart beating against his back, and then after a few seconds he shifts even closer and Remus tenses but doesn’t move. And then there’s a breath against his neck, and he bites his lip so that he wouldn’t cry, and a soft kiss that sends shivers through his spine, something he thought he’d never feel again.  
  
“Fuck you,” Remus says with a soft slow voice and kisses his neck again, “Pads, fuck you, you haven’t hold me for weeks, you can’t even look at me in the eyes when we aren’t fucking and I can’t take it, I just can’t, it’s worse than everything else that’s going on – “  
  
“I know,” he said, “you’re doing the same. You’re watching me.”  
  
“I’m not,” Remus says, but he can feel there’s something, he can feel it in the way Remus’ fingers go tense on his skin.  
  
“But you are,” he says, barely a whisper, “you wonder if the spy is me. You wonder if all this is false. You wonder if I just couldn’t help it, if it is in my blood.”  
  
He hears Remus swallowing. “Sirius – “  
  
“Oh, but you aren’t supposed to call me _Sirius_ when we’re alone.”  
  
Remus goes silent for a few seconds and then he’s gone, his arm on Sirius shoulder is gone, his fingers are gone, his warmth is gone. Sirius turns around to watch him and he’s already on the doorway, pushing his light brown hair back with both hands, looking at everything else but the man on his bed.  
  
“I can’t help it,” Remus says with a pained voice, “sometimes I think I’m going mad but I can’t help it, you could do it so easily, you could break me – “  
  
“You could, too,” Sirius says. He thought he wasn’t bitter anymore but oh, he is, there’s a sharp edge in his voice that says _you let them take me to Azkaban, you let them tell you I was guilty, and when I came back half of me lost, you wouldn’t touch me anymore._ Remus shakes his head and Sirius wants to laugh at him but can’t find the strength. “Oh yes, you could. You will. You will trust them and not me. You will let yourself be told that I never loved you, but I do, I do and you can break me.”  
  
“I won’t,” Remus says, and there’s something in his voice, he’s hesitating, he’s weighting his words, and Sirius knows he should have done this all those years ago, he should have lain on the bed naked and thoroughly fucked and he should have let Remus see how easily he could be broken, and maybe then Remus would have believed him.  
  
“You will.”  
  
“I don’t doubt you,” Remus says, doubting him, but anyway he comes to sit on the edge of the bed and Sirius fights an urge to grab his hand that’s resting on the sheets now. “I don’t, but there’re some people who say that… that once a Black, always a Black. Rubbish like that.”  
  
“I love you,” Sirius says and sees Remus flinch, “I love you madly and I always will and I will when you listen to them and when you decide I never loved you at all, I’ll love you through it all until I’m dead.”  
  
“Don’t speak like that,” Remus says, his voice sharper now, and he wraps Sirius’ wrist and looks like he doesn’t know what to do with it, “you won’t die, I won’t let you – “  
  
_But I did,_ Sirius wants to say, _I did,_ and then Remus kisses his hand and he can hear his own breathing going sharp and uneven, and Remus is kissing his fingers now and he can’t believe he let go of all this once, of this incredible thing they had, that he let the war eat it and change it into a twisted thing, that he didn’t trust Remus.  
  
“I didn’t trust you either.”  
  
“What?” Remus looks at him, sharply, and he lets out a deep sigh.  
  
“I didn’t… I _don’t_ trust you either. I have doubts, or, perhaps I will, it doesn’t matter. I’ll be wrong. I should have always trusted you. You always loved me, Moony, you always did, it was real, you loved me and I let them make me doubt you and it broke everything…”  
  
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Remus asks, and Sirius can hear that he’s terrified even though he tries to hide it.  
  
“Maybe it hasn’t happened yet but it will,” he breathes out, “I will doubt you and it will break everything into pieces. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I should have trusted you, nothing bad would have come to us if only I had trusted you – “  
  
“You aren’t making any sense,” Remus says, placing a kiss on his mouth as if it were to stop him from making no sense.  
  
“No,” he admits, “I suppose I’m not. I trust you. I trust you completely. I trust you whatever they say.”  
  
“Fine,” Remus says, “good, _good,_ but – “  
  
He puts his fingers onto Remus’ hair, and the way Remus moans makes him tremble. “I promise, can you _hear me,_ you have me, you have all of me, everything there is. You can tie me into this bed and I’ll never fight you.”  
  
Remus lets out a short laugh. “I’d want you to fight me.”  
  
“Moony,” he says, “Moony, Moony, _Moony,_ I will trust you this time. And you have to trust me.”  
  
“Fine, you idiot,” Remus says, kissing him. “I trust you. Please just put some clothes on, you’re lying naked on the bed like you don’t even realize it and talking about love and it’s really… it’s really…”  
  
“You could just fuck me again.”  
  
Remus draws a long breath and watches him. “Really? Don’t we have places to go, things to do?”  
  
“I wouldn’t know,” he says, “but I don’t believe so.” There can’t be. There can’t be anything more important than this, more important than Remus’ warm hand on his.  
  
“So,” Remus says after a few minutes, when Sirius is catching his breath, trying not to come _right now_ , and Remus is holding him close and looking into his eyes and his mouth is frozen half-open with all these things he wants to say but can’t find a voice to do so, “ _so,_ you love me. And you trust me.”  
  
“Yes,” Sirius says and bits into his lip as Remus pulls himself out and then pushes back into him, “ _yes –_ “  
  
“You really love me.”  
  
“I do – “ and Remus must know he can’t breathe anymore, he must know because he’s smiling a wicked smile and moving so suddenly it takes a breath out of his lungs at once, “you must – believe – me – “  
  
“I believe you,” Remus says and kisses his mouth, “I do. I love you too. I’ve loved you since I met you.”  
  
“I know – “  
  
“I always will.”  
  
“I know – “ and he moans and can’t help it, because Remus is holding his cock and sucking the skin just behind his ear, “ – I was there.”  
  
And with that, Remus pushes back into him once again and he comes.  
  
And with that, the years will go by, the curtains will stay closed and Sirius Black will lie on Remus Lupin’s bed, spent and naked, and in years to come he will climb out of the bed and bring Remus tea and newspapers and everything he might ever want or need. And they will never stop trusting each other, and they will never start to wonder if perhaps their love wasn’t real after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I really liked writing this story, it felt like swimming in the sea of angst and then getting a happy ending anyway. Oh yeeees. I love how tragic their story is but it felt surprisingly good to write them living happily ever after (perhaps, or perhaps Sirius was just dreaming after all) just this one time.


End file.
